You're in My Veins
by Foibles and Fables
Summary: Richard is affected by an ancient, destructive spell, and only Cara holds the key to the cure. What results will change the journey - and the group's very fate - for good. Begins post-"Desecrated" and becomes AU from that point.


_Begins post-"Desecrated and becomes AU from that point._

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Legend of the Seeker_. This writing is for entertainment purposes only and is not for profit.**

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**I. Emergence**

Beautiful, Richard thought.

Morning sunlight, cool and bright, sliced through the canopy of leaves above. The breeze caused them to rustle and hiss, breaking and shifting the gaps between them, and the patches of illumination on the ground swayed and disappeared. Somewhere nearby, a bird called a happy greeting. The air was comfortably crisp, fresh, as Richard breathed in deep. It felt wonderful to let it swell and swirl in his chest. His chin tilted back with the effort, and his eyes closed before he let it back out in a contented sigh. A small smile tugged at his mouth. He was ready to take another step. Green, in both bright and subdued shades, filled his vision, invigorating his senses.

On a morning like this, it didn't feel like the world was threatening to tear apart at the seams. Of course, in the back of his mind, he knew the truth – it very well _was_ – but, for a few moments, he could pretend. It looked a bit like Hartland around here. If he really tried, standing there, he could cling to the warm memories of the life he had once led.

But the weight of the compass cradled in his palm and the Sword of Truth on his hip brought Richard back to the reality where he had a mission, a duty. Find the Stone of Tears, save the entire world of the living – it was a far cry from repairing bridges and running trails in Westland, where the greatest inconveniences were simple robbers and having to carefully point out poisonous plants to otherwise clueless travelers. All the same, here he was, trusting impulse and fortune, running into the vast darkness with nothing but a weak torch to light the way. He would swing his sword on the charge with as much might as he could muster. Sometimes, in that darkness, he would ricochet off of something unseen, lose track of his feet somewhere behind him, and come crashing to the ground.

But there was always experience gained and a lesson learned, even in the gravest of failures and the worst of decisions.

Sometimes it seemed like he would never succeed. The shadows and obstacles threatened to engulf him completely. He had overcome so many already; it was enough to make any man tired.

Mornings like this, however, reminded him of why he was fighting in the first place. They told him that he could go on.

Richard reluctantly blinked away from the trees' lovely colors and watched the compass for a moment. The orb of luminous, swirling blue and shimmering lights danced and bickered with him as he adjusted his position, trying to convince them to align. Noises droned and whined from it, noises he couldn't name – noises created by magic. He began a slow turn, and stopped when the compass's glow intensified. When he raised his eyes to look to where it was pointing, there was a little more hope. The direction of their camp, the direction in which they had been heading the previous day. Always a good sign. He gave an impulsive, determined nod.

This morning was a message. Something was coming, carried in on the sunlight. He liked to believe that it was something good, though he could never truly be sure, especially now. Whatever it was, it lay in the direction the compass was indicating.

It was a relief to be back on the right course, and even more so to still have everyone together. Nobody still trapped and suffocating inside of a tomb, nobody taken by the nygax. They had left those nightmares behind in Dunshire the evening before. Richard steeled his jaw. That would be a birthday celebration he wouldn't soon forget.

It wasn't all bad, though, he supposed. At least he had a chance to dance with Kahlan. Those few happy moments nearly made the subsequent trouble completely worth it. With the memory of her smile blazing in his mind, he closed the compass and took another deep breath.

The scent of woodsmoke entwined with some sort of food quickly caught his attention, the attention of his stomach in particular. He hadn't realized how hungry he was, and the thought of a hearty breakfast served to brighten his mood even more. With a sense of renewed conviction, Richard stretched and began the short trek through the brush to the clearing where the others were finally waking up. As he moved closer to the source, however, the aroma in the air began to change. The underscore to the comforting smoke started to transform from enticing to quite strange. Even closer, it became downright foul. For a moment, his face screwed up and he stopped in his tracks. Maybe he hadn't been smelling breakfast after all; it was Kahlan's turn to cook, and she hadn't made a bad meal yet. But if it wasn't breakfast, what was it?

That wary curiosity brought him to the campsite. "Good morning, everyone," he said cheerfully, nodding at the chime of overlapping responses, because not even the odor could compromise the splendor of this morning. He stretched again before placing his hands on his hips. "What's for…"

His words trailed off as he really looked at his friends for the first time. Kahlan was sitting to the side of the low-burning fire, rubbing the final remnants of sleep from her eyes, ready for whatever the day would bring. Grunting and straightening, Zedd had just finished gathering his bedroll.

And standing over the fire, staring into the cooking pot with thinly-veiled contempt, and holding the spoon in the air in a way that seemed almost like a threat, was Cara.

"…breakfast."

His question concluded much less enthusiastically than it had begun. The unpleasant smell definitely made sense now. He held back sighing laughter, and Cara glared and pursed her lips without even removing her eyes from the simmering mystery.

"Cara offered to cook in my place this morning," Kahlan explained, shooting him a quick pointed look. It was a silent reminder to _be supportive_, even though she had to be dreading the meal just as much as he was – she simply hid it better.

The mystifying contents of the pot were ready to be served just as Richard sat on the ground across from Kahlan. He watched the lumpy, nearly gelatinous, tan-colored mess in his bowl carefully, as if it was about to swell up and eat _him_ for breakfast instead. It was bubbling, too, quite sinisterly. This was not a good sign. The steam rising from it was making him nervous. Zedd and Kahlan, too, were perplexedly studying their breakfasts. Meanwhile, Cara was standing over them, watching, hands on her hips, still holding the spoon. Her sharp gaze flitted between them. They would have to take a bite eventually.

Kahlan was the first to give in, slowly raising her own spoon to her mouth. Richard didn't wait for her reaction, not wanting to see her expression of concealed pain before he had to taste it himself. Instead, he cautiously scooped up some of the whatever-it-was, mentally preparing himself to eat it. Maybe smells could be deceiving, he thought. He knew there were fruits that were awful to smell, but delicious to taste. With that notion giving him the closest thing to bravery (even the Seeker paled at the thought of actually ingesting Cara's cooking), he opened his mouth and closed his lips around the spoon.

Cringing, he realized how very stupid his optimism had been. The bitter taste was much worse than terrible; she apparently didn't need her Agiel to torture someone. He couldn't stop himself from reacting.

"Cara," he coughed as the viscous lump slipped down his throat, "what _is_ this?" He tried with all his might not to grimace at the disconcertingly salty aftertaste. As soon as the question left his mouth, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer after all.

With a huffy sigh of aggravation, Cara abruptly dropped the spoon, crossed her arms, and shifted her hips to the side. A swift snap of her wrist sent blonde hair away from her face. "This," she replied, "is a reminder to all of you: never let me prepare a meal." Her voice was clipped and heavy with the sarcasm they had grown to expect from her. "Even if I ask." Here she looked at Kahlan, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows.

And Kahlan let out a soft laugh, smiling at the seriousness of Cara's pursed lips. Despite the taste lingering in his mouth, Richard had to smirk right along with her. She ran a hand through her thick, shiny hair as she looked to him, now grinning. Blue eyes, bright and clear, sparkled in the sunlight, and the corners crinkled with the intensity of her amusement. It was completely stunning, as usual. Richard felt his stomach work itself into a knot as her smile softened, gaze still locked with his. He watched her cheeks tinge pink, and heat began to wash over his own skin. He was overcome by sudden breathlessness, but he didn't particularly mind; he wanted to turn down air and breathe her forever instead – to kiss her until she could no longer stand. To be in her space, to run his hand along the curve of her hip, and bury his face in her hair. His heart raced, bouncing nearly into his throat, and it was the typical reaction to her smile.

Until his ears began to ring.

The high-pitched vibration started quietly but still managed to curb Richard's smile. Almost immediately after he noticed it, it swelled and intensified until his head was full of it; he could suddenly hear nothing else. Voices and thoughts alike melted into oblivion. The awful pressure it created in the center of his forehead forced him to wince and shut his eyes; when he tried to open them again, he couldn't without being slammed by a wave of dizziness. Steeling his jaw against the ache, he realized that his skin wasn't just pleasurably warm – it was burning, with tiny, fiery explosions right beneath the surface. The feeling in his stomach, brought on by Kahlan's smile, transformed from a pleasant tingle to an aggravated twinge, and then to a violent, painful tug. It was as if something was trying to tear away from his body, not concerned with how much it injured its host. He braced himself against the unexpected, bitter pain, not wanting to let it show. His heart was hammering away and a cold sweat began to accompany the throb. He tried to swallow, without avail, overcome by the agonizing sensation. Another rush of it took the air from him, and he gritted his teeth. He wanted to double over, but forced himself not to.

In the part of his mind that was still partly coherent, he was instantly reminded of the headaches his Han once plagued him with. They would come on with the same urgency and rapidity, and with the same sensation of something attempting to escape. That pain, though, was all in his head. The quake and twist of nausea this one carried with it disturbed him. Besides, he gave up his Han – upon remembrance, this thought brought a streak of cold dread into the mix as well. This couldn't possibly be a resurgence of its power.

But the relief that came with knowing what did _not_ cause the pain was all but lost in the face of not knowing what caused it.

Even worse, he thought he noticed something pulsing beneath the surface of the pain: the faint glimmer of something beyond his control. Something forebodingly magical.

Richard brought himself under control with considerable effort, and the hurt dissipated gradually as he breathed. He chanced a look at the others, and was pleased when he saw that they hadn't noticed, as he had hoped they wouldn't. Kahlan was preoccupied with reassuring a dubious-looking Cara that, no, breakfast really did taste fine. Zedd's eyes were closed tight as he shoveled in mouthful after mouthful of the gruel, not willing to miss out on the mere act of eating, no matter how the food tasted. Richard took another shuddering breath and wiped the back of his hand across his damp forehead.

The sun was still shining above, as if nature hadn't noticed the crash of pain either. Despite the warm rays, a chill ran through his body. A morning like this had never before been a warning. He tried to reason out the pain's unsettling undertone. Maybe Cara's cooking was the culprit. Still, Richard supposed, not even unsavory food could possibly induce a fit like that.

In any case, the pain was gone. Maybe it would be gone forever. Maybe it was nothing.

But, if there was one thing Richard had learned since leaving Hartland, it was that "nothing" was always something.

Especially if magic was involved.

Something deep inside of him trembled and protested. He tried not to think of it again.


End file.
